The Dangers of Dating
by motorcity.horror
Summary: Trying to convince Chris Sabin to try something new, Alex Shelley makes a grave mistake and must now live with the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Come on man, it's not going to kill you! You just need to try new things occasionally!"

The Motor City Machine Guns, Alex Shelley and Chris Sabin, were backstage at the TNA iMPACT! taping, waiting until they were next called to do a segment. It had been a busy day, and it seemed that their luck was turning around. Recently, they seemed to only be on TV for short matches wherein they had been unjustly robbed of their opportunities and made to job at every turn. But when they had arrived at the studio that morning, they had been hurriedly pulled into a meeting where they had been informed by a harassed looking group of assistants and junior writing staff that there had been a change of plan.

A member of a tag team had been injured, and the Machine Guns had been chosen to fill the place of the other team. This meant, though, they were told as new run sheets were thrust into their hands and they were all but pushed out the door, that they would have to tape a backlog of matches and promos to make up for the sudden change. So they had taped a match, them getting beaten down, and two promos before lunch, and they were taking a break, lounging on fold out chairs, a selection of food before them.

Sighing, Alex Shelley looked at his tag team partner. "Why won't you just try it? The very worst that will happen is that you won't like it, and then no harm, no foul. It's not like you're getting _married _or anything."

Sabin sighed, watching a petite brunette walk past. He cracked a smile as the woman turned back, winking at him. "But what if it causes me problems? You know the kind of luck I've been having lately..."

"Sabin, buddy, it's one date. Again, it's not going to kill you. I promise."

Sabin leered at the other man. "And if it does?"

"It won't, I swear."

Sabin sighed, rubbing his forehead in thought. "Fine, hand it over."

With a grin, Shelley plucked a date out of the bag he was holding and dropped it into Sabin's outstretched hand. He nibbled on it tentatively at first, and when he didn't gag from the flavour, he popped the rest of the fruit into his mouth. He chewed the date twice and then went to swallow.

Sabin liked to live by the assumption that he knew his body fairly well – after all, he had had it all his life. So when he felt his throat constrict, and he started coughing, he knew something wasn't right. But Shelley, not possessing the other man's body, wasn't aware of this. "How about you try chewing, buddy?" He laughed, and turned to talk to AJ Styles, who had just wandered up, seeing the two men resting.

While they spoke, Sabin started to panic. He couldn't get any air in, and growing desperate as the coughing seemed more and more futile, fell onto the floor on his hands and knees, trying to find anything to drink.

By the time the coughing stopped and Shelley turned back – assuming that his friend knew how to chew and swallow without any help – Chris Sabin was dead.

Alex Shelley had assumed wrong.

**

They had the funeral. As Shelley watched the coffin descend into the ground, he finally gave in to the tears that he had been fighting for the last week. He had to be helped back to the car, and in no state to drive, was driven home, weeping the whole way.

The body had been flown back to Detroit the day after, the medical examiner declaring it an accidental death with no foul play apparent. He had delivered this news to the family, Shelley sitting amongst them. They had all flown up when they got the news, and been with him to escort the body back. The arrangements had been made, Shelley included by the family, though he didn't really remember any of it. It had all been a blur of pain, misery and remorse.

When Shelley arrived home, he was put to bed. He curled up under the blanket, not bothering to change out of his suit, and cried like he hadn't since he was a child.

Eventually, he slept.

**

Alex Shelley lay in his bed, unable to move. The days drifted past, turning into weeks. He realised that he had quite possibly been lying there for months. He didn't care.

Doctors came and prescribed medication for him. They said he was depressed – they all said he was depressed, needed to handle the pain and move on. He didn't care.

**

"Enough."

The voice cut through Shelley's sleeping mind one morning, and he jolted awake. He could have sworn it was the voice of Chris Sabin, but when he looked up, he saw another figure standing above him. Sabin's mother stood over him, a mug of tea in hand. Placing it firmly on the bedside table, she strode over to the curtains and pulled them back, letting the daylight stream in. Shelley shut his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head, not wanting to face the outside world.

"It's July first, do you realise that? You've been moping for far too long, and I've had enough of it. I know Chris-"her voice broke when she spoke the name, and Shelley vaguely wondered how many times she had actually spoken it since the funeral, "wouldn't want you to keep on like this. I know that's not what he was about, and it's certainly not what you are. So get OUT of that bed this instance, young man, get in that shower, and then you are going to the gym!"

If it had been anyone else, Shelley would no doubt have stayed in bed. But a combination of it being an authoritative voice, the voice of a mother, and most of all a voice that carried the same accent and inflection of Sabin's, made Shelley groan and start to roll out of bed.

"Now get in that shower, and when you're out and dressed, I'm driving you to the gym myself. Don't hang about, either. It's time to get moving."

**

Shelley unlocked the door and walked into the house, his feet dragging. He had been forced to stay at the gym until he was given permission to leave, and then driven back home. Through the months of inactivity, Shelley had become stiff and out of shape. He realised, as he glared at the low resistance on the treadmill, that he hated feeling that way. He had made a deal with himself that whatever else he did he would get back into shape. He hadn't bought a change of clothes to the gym, so he headed straight for the bathroom.

As he let the hot water wash over him, he surveyed his body, making a note of everything that he wanted to change, all the muscles and how they used to look. During the months, he had stopped eating nearly as much, and had lost weight. His skin, he noticed during his self-appraisal, didn't seem to fit on his arms like it used to. Shelley decided to make a list of all the areas on his body that he needed to get back into shape – he decided that he would throw himself into that endeavour and then face whatever came after it later.

He turned off the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Feeling the aches and pains from his workout, he went to the cabinet and pulled the door open.

Dates poured out. They seemed to come from nowhere, cascading down into the sink and then overflowing to the floor. Shelley let out a scream, backing away. He rubbed his eyes and his cabinet was back to normal, lined with small bottles of vitamin supplements, bandages, and toiletries.

He slammed the cabinet door, muscle pain forgotten, and backed out of the bathroom.

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**

It had been a week since Alex Shelley had suffered the incident in his bathroom, and he had been trying to put it out of his mind ever since. But it had seemed to awaken something within him, and he had felt more motivated then he could remember feeling in a long time. He had called TNA the next day, and they had informed him that they would be willing to have him back with the company, but he would need to prove himself and be in the best shape of his life.

In the past week, when he was trying to think of anything other than his bathroom cabinet, he had mused over what had become of him. He had been released from the company and hadn't even realised, and after he plugged his phone in to charge and turned it on, in the first time in months, he was faced with a barrage of missed calls and messages. It was like he had dropped off the face of the Earth.

He had a goal, and intended to achieve it. Since then, he had been spending every day in the gym, trying to regain the fitness he once had. But in the evening, Shelley would always return home and fall into a restless sleep, no matter how tired he was.

He was in the kitchen one such evening, trying to remember how he liked his muesli prepared. He had bags of every dried fruit and nut in his pantry on the counter top, each bag occasionally rustling as he reached a hand in to pull out a few pieces. His eyes became blurry as he ignored the labels on the bags, trying to remember the colours and sequence that he used to replicate so easily. Reaching into a bag, he pulled out a handful of fruit.

Focusing his eyes again, he read the label. "Dried apple slices..." Shelley muttered to himself, and looked down at his hand. In it, there was a small pile of off-brown coloured, oval shaped fruit. Shelley gasped as he realised what it was. Dropping them hastily, he picked up the bag claiming it contained apple, and tipped it over. Out poured dates. Biting back panic, he picked up the other bags littering the counter and turned them all upside down. Out of every single packet rolled dates.

His hunger gone, Shelley abandoned his kitchen and ran to his bedroom. There he climbed into the bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

**

Alex Shelley stretched, placing his gym bag on the wooden bench. He had not slept the night before, but was determined to stick to his routine. He had gotten up when the alarm sounded, thrown his gear into a bag, and walked out his bedroom door. As he passed the kitchen, he couldn't help but look – all over his counter, left from the night before, were dried fruits, nuts, and muesli, with not a date amongst it. He breathed a sigh of relief, made a mental note to clean up when he got back, picked up his keys and left the house.

Yawning, Shelley opened his gym bag. When he opened his eyes and looked down, he gave a yell. Instead of the clothes he knew he had put in there, the bag was full of dates.

"Alright you fucker, enough of this!" Shelley yelled, plunging his hands into his bag, digging through the small fruits. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew he wasn't going to be defeated by a _fruit_.

"Dude, are you ok?" A voice cut through Shelley's panicked digging, and he looked up. The other men in the locker-room were staring at him; some with concern, some with fear, and some just plain confused.

"What?" Shelley said, confusing the men further. "I was just..." He indicated towards his bag, but when he looked down, it was just a bag half filled with his clothing. As he looked about him, he saw various articles of clothing thrown about the room. Swearing, he picked up his bag, collected his clothing, and stormed out.

**

Alex Shelley was convinced he had lost his mind. More and more, he saw dates everywhere, never in the same place twice. Sometimes they would fill containers that he picked up; sometimes they would explode out of cupboards or from behind doors. Once they exploded out of the dryer when he opened it, leaving the room smelling distinctly like dates even when they seemed to disappear.

He had considered telling someone what he had seen, but they all knew how he had reacted after Sabin's funeral, so he didn't think they would take him seriously. He took to researching disorders and sicknesses online, but couldn't find any mention of dates...ever. Shelley reasoned that there would be a more logical representation of his friend if it was how he was trying to grieve.

Shelley couldn't come up with any reason but that he had lost his mind.

**

"Alex, buddy, wake up. You're snoring."

Alex Shelley awoke with a jolt. In the darkness, he could see a figure standing before him. In his half-asleep haze, he decided that if the person wasn't hiding or trying to be quiet, then they probably weren't a danger. Besides, they had known his name.

He reached over to the lamp on his bedside table, shutting his eyes against the sudden light. After a moment, he squinted up at the face hovering above him. Shelley sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared.

Standing in front of him, grinning sheepishly, was Chris Sabin.

"Uhh...boo?"

**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**

"S-Sabin?" Shelley stammered, looking at the man in front of him.

"That's my name, it's true. Now get out of bed, I'm bored. Let's go play Halo or something." And with that, Sabin turned and walked out of the room

Shelley sat perfectly still, convinced that he was dreaming. It was only when he heard the sound of his TV turning on that he scrambled out of bed and ran to the lounge room. Sabin was now sitting on the couch, looking at the TV, Xbox controller in hand, waiting for the game to load.

"I don't believe it... you're not dead."

Sabin made a sound like a game show buzzer. "I'm sorry, that answer is incorrect! No, I'm as dead as your fashion sense, Alex. And yet here I am. Do I amaze you?"

"But how?" Shelley asked, furtively pinching himself. The only answer he could think up was that he was dreaming or he had actually gone insane. Shrugging slightly, he decided to make the most of his time with Sabin. He started to walk towards the couch and sat while Sabin explained.

"I'm here to keep you company, pretty simple really." He glanced at Shelley, and seeing that he didn't accept so short an explanation, sighed and continued. "You couldn't move on, so I'm here to help you with that. You need to live your life, and not moon over me. They usually don't do this for a man of your, uh, situation, but when they saw how badly you were coping, a decision was made."

"They?"

Sabin waved the question away. "Don't even bother to ask, I couldn't answer even if I knew for sure."

Shelley knew by the tone in Sabin's voice that he wasn't going to get a straight answer, so he moved on to the next question. "Why'd it take you so long, then?"

Sabin groaned. "The bureaucracy man, it'll kill you. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway. You'd think that by dying you'd get a pass on all the red tape bullshit, but apparently not. It's a process. If you feel guilty for a death, even if it's none of your fault, you're given time to mourn. If you don't get past the mourning stage, you're sent signs. In your case, it's the dates. Which I just want to say, not my choice – somebody thinks they have a sense of humour, but if they'd just asked I could've given them much better things to make you see. Anyway, signs." Sabin took a deep breath and put his controller down, turning to Shelley. "These signs are meant to encourage you – you're meant to have an epiphany, or a revelation, or at the very least ask someone for help. If you do that, then they assume you're moving on. If you're a pent up Gemini wrestler and are apparently incapable of asking for or seeking help, like _someone _I know, then you get to the third stage."

"And the third stage is?" Shelley asked, already knowing the answer.

Sabin pointed to himself. "Yo."

"Ok." Shelley said, chewing his lip. "Assuming I'm not asleep and haven't lost my mind, what are you here for?"

"Learn to listen. I have to help you get past the mourning stage and move on with your life. And then I'll disappear."

"And if I don't want to move on? What if I mourn you forever, will you have to stay here?"

"Actually, yeah. Which between you and me, I'd have no problem with. I was so damn bored up there; peace and contentment aren't really all that interesting without someone to share it with." Sabin said, and then as an afterthought added. "No homo. You're my heterosexual life partner, and I guess you're going to be my death partner, too."

"And when I die?"

"I'll disappear. I only exist here while you are on this plane of existence. Once you make your exit, we both get to move on."

"Say I'm willing to accept all of what you've just said, that I'm not dreaming or crazy or whatever. What about everyone else?"

"What about them?" Sabin said, picking up the controller again.

"If I went and got someone else, would they be able to see you? Would they be able to see the things you're moving?"

"Nope, I'm your own personal ghost. Only you can hear me, only you can see me, and I'm strictly forbidden from moving objects while other people are present. But it's pretty cool, it's all a choice. I can walk through walls! Anyway, can we play Halo now? You know how I hate exposition."

Shelley nodded, accepting the controller that Sabin was offering. He didn't know what to make of what he had been told and what he was seeing, but until it was proven otherwise, he was happy to have his friend with him.

**

The next morning when Shelley woke, Sabin was still there, sitting on the end of his bed, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Shelley looked around him and found popcorn littering his pillow and through his hair.

"I got bored." Sabin explained.

As he was changing the sheets, which were now covered with butter, Sabin explained his plan. He had had a lot of time to think while he was waiting to see how Shelley's mourning would turn out, and thought he had found a loophole. He explained that Shelley could go on with his life, progress as nature had intended, but if he remained dependant on the company Sabin provided – "like when I was alive" Sabin said, grinning – then they could stay together.

"But I need you to know," Sabin had added at the end, staring at the ground as he said it, "that I don't want to stand in the way of your life. My time as a living, breathing person is up, it's true, but yours is meant to continue. So if other factors come in to it, and I'm not an appropriate...fixture in your life anymore, get over me. That's fine. I'll be waiting on the other side anyway."

Shelley grimaced to hear his friend talk in this way and threw a coaster at him. It sailed through Sabin's head, making him momentarily shimmer. "Shut up, Sabin."

**

As the months passed and Sabin didn't vanish, Shelley grew used to his presence. Life seemed to go back to normal – he got back in shape, returned to wrestling, appeared to have undergone a miraculous recovery. In time, he got used to not making jokes with Sabin while other people were around, and Shelley tried his best to keep his secret. There were the occasional slip ups, where he would be caught talking to Sabin or looking at something that nobody else could see, but in those times he covered his actions up as best he could. It was normal, he said, for people to talk to themselves, and he would claim to be thinking when he was actually watching something.

Life went on, and Shelley grew more confident in hiding his secret. He thought he had it figured out.

**

...

...

...

**

"Alright Miss Adams, next on the block is..." The woman consulted her clipboard, adjusting her glasses. "Alex Shelley. He came to us 3 years ago and was admitted by the state. Like all the other patients here, he's not dangerous, just an unlucky young man. He suffers auditory and visual delusions of his deceased friend. After the death, he dropped into a depression for several months, and then seemed to recover. Got back into work, into a social life, was able to continue a normal life. His family and friends then noticed, however, that he was communicating with and reacting to a stimulus that wasn't there. He is typically calm, but will not discuss his friend..." the woman consulted the clipboard again, "Chris Sabin, and therefore we cannot progress with treatment. Until he is willing to accept that his friend is gone and we can begin to treat his delusions, the court has ordered that he remain here."

The younger woman was scribbling notes as the other was talking, and when she paused, she looked up. "Is there anything in particular I should be doing with this one? To convince him of his friend's death?"

"This particular patient doesn't need to be convinced of his friend's death – when asked, he'll readily admit that Mr Sabin has passed. But he will still actively engage in conversation while he is not being openly monitored. He will go periods without communication with what he believes to be his friend, but he will always go back to talking to him. We believe he is afraid of appearing as if he has 'moved on', and therefore makes a choice. He is willing to stay here so that his friend can stay with him."

The younger woman frowned.

"Now, moving along..." The older woman started walking to the next door. As she followed, Miss Adams looked in through the window. There, sitting on the standard single bed that all low-risk patients of the Detroit Psychiatric Institute were provided, was a young man. His dark hair appeared to be styled into a Mohawk, and he was clearly a man that kept in shape. He was talking animatedly to the space in front of him, pausing every so often as if listening to a response. She tried to direct her gaze to where he was looking, and saw an indentation on that bed opposite him, as if someone was – or very recently had been – sitting there. She made a mental note of his face, and hastily followed the older woman, who was waiting by the next door.

**


End file.
